


I Sing Anyway

by miss_nettles_wife



Series: Whumptober 2019 [19]
Category: The Doctor Blake Mysteries
Genre: Blood, Blood Loss, Clinical Death, M/M, Stabbing, Whumptober, other characters mentioned or appear very briefly, set after Ghost Stories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2021-01-03 21:35:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21186347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_nettles_wife/pseuds/miss_nettles_wife
Summary: Whumptober day 20: Bleeding out.Charlie gets stabbed, Danny tries to save him.





	I Sing Anyway

**Author's Note:**

> day 20............ Over halfway finished! Tonight, i'm treating myself to some Charlie/Danny, and i hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I luv my sons so much. Thank you to everyone who's reviewed, shared their thoughts of helped me talk some of these out, I appreciate it very much. Damn. 20 short fics in one month. Who'd have thought i had it in me?

The human body contains about five liters of blood.

Charlie knew that. Lucien explained that to him once, in the middle of a case where they had to follow a long blood trail on foot and it seemed like the only thing the man had to say was facts about blood. Not the most interesting of medical facts, but facts just the same. He remembered that day because by the time they got home his feet hurt so much that all he could do was lie on his bed and be annoyed that his shoes were so uncomfortable. He got a blister on the back of his foot. It hurt a lot, and when it eventually popped it hurt much more and the skin that had been stretched was white and soggy. It was disgusting, but Blake bandaged it up without any complaint and told him to take it easy for a couple of days.

He was also pretty sure he could lose a couple of those liters and not end up on Doc Harvey’s table. He’d always wondered how he’d end up there. He’d long since figured that was where he’d end up one day. One knock to the head too many, probably. He’d be out like a light and just never wake up. He just...Hadn’t wanted it to be so soon.

Right now, things were good. So good. He knew good things ended, but he’d hoped to hold onto this one a little longer. Maybe that was his problem? He couldn’t accept when things ended. That was why he’d clung on to Rose for so long, why he’d come back to Ballarat after it all, why he couldn’t leave. Maybe she was right. Maybe he was fucking naive.

Above him, Danny has a smear of blood on his face. From the tip of his nose to his right cheekbone. The light is behind his head, and it catches on the wetness in Charlie’s eyes, turning into blurs and spots of brightness in his vision. He looks so handsome. Charlie almost wished that thing about leaving your body was true, so he could get another angle on him. Things with Danny were so good, he almost didn’t care about it being wrong. He almost didn’t care about hiding it.

Inside his ears, all he can hear is ringing. Not like a church bell, which had a deep clanging noise, but more like a continuous high-pitched squeal. It blots out all other sound, but he can see Danny’s mouth moving. His lips are two thin, uneven pink stripes on his clean-shaven face. He wondered what Danny might say at his funeral, should someone ask him to speak.

He hoped it was something nice. Maybe he’d say something about how they were mates. He might tell the story of how they first met, in the burning mid-January sun, looking for a missing child who they had no way of knowing was already dead and on the other side of town to them. He could still picture it behind his eyes, Danny’s face, the bead of sweat rolling down the side of his chin, his devil may care smile.

Maybe he’d mention something more recent. Maybe he’d bring up a funny story about when he got drunk last. Maybe he’d talk about how dedicated he was to his work, how it was his life, how he didn’t have a wife or kids; just the work.

Or maybe not. Maybe he’d read a poem. Charlie liked poetry, for the most part. He just didn’t want him to read that one that went ‘I am not here, I do not sleep’. He hated that one. Or Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night. He didn’t like that one either. He’d like him to read that one by Joyce Grenfell. The one that ends ‘Life goes on, so sing as well.’ That was a good sentiment to have.

But it would be up to Danny, in the end. Maybe he’d have a fit of insanity, and declare to all those in attendance that he loved him. Can you arrest someone for unnatural acts if the person they’re doing it with is dead?

The ringing in his ears clears, and for the first time, he can feel the world around him. He can feel where the knife has shifted in his stomach. Bands of muscle, severed, rub against one another sparking like electrical chords. His breath is laboured, and heavy; like something is sitting on his chest. His panicked heart thumps against his ribs manically. His wet shirt clings to his body, not at all tacky.

And Danny is not speaking. Danny is yelling. At the top of his lungs. There are other people, he knows that because he was there with them. Bill at least is here, and Peter Crowe. He doesn’t really want to die in front of Peter. He’s a good kid, and Charlie likes to see himself as an older brother to him. He doesn’t want him to see him like that.

A cold wave washes over him.

He doesn’t want to die.

“Please!” Danny is shouting, “How long until someone can get here?!”

“Five minutes, at least!” Bill calls back. Charlie can’t move his head enough to see where he is. “I’ve got Conners in the back of the car!”

“I don’t give a shit about Conners!” Danny said, and Charlie can hear every bump and strain in his voice, “I only care about Charlie!”

Sometimes, Charlie thought that his only specialty was getting into trouble. And maybe it was, but he’d rather him be stabbed than anyone else. He doesn’t regret moving in front of Conners, not for a second. His only regret is putting Danny in this situation. He doesn’t want him to be scarred for life because he saw this.

“You’re so stupid.” Danny tells him, “Why would you do that?”

“He was gonna stab you,” Charlie replied, his voice is slurred. He wonders how much blood he’d lost. He doesn’t want to move to look.

“And that’s why? That’s a good enough reason?”

“What’s the alternative?” Outside, a siren. Danny looks like he’s about to cry in relief, but Charlie doesn’t share his optimism. It’s still so far away. “I love you.” He says, seriously. “You’re the best mate I’ve -” His body spasms in pain, the knife is so deep and so painful. “I’ve ever had.”

“Don’t start talking like that.” Danny pleads. Charlie has only ever heard him plead once before, and at the time that was what he was trying to achieve. This pleading feels...Wrong. Bad.

“Say it back.” He says, now pleading himself. A fresh gush of hot blood erupts over his shirt, like trying to cover a showerhead with the palm of your hand. He doesn’t consider someone who pleads, but it’s the only thing he wants to hear. If he dies, if nothing else, the last thing he heard will have been Danny’s voice. If he lives, then he has the memory of Danny saying it; when something happens, when he does something, and they stop being friends. Just like Ray. Just like his old man. Just like fucking Blake.

Jesus. The last thing he’d ever said to Blake was ‘Good luck on the case’.

If he could go back and say something else, he’d beg him to stay. Tell him he belongs in Ballarat. If he couldn’t change the future, he’d tell him he was practically a father figure to him, and that as much of a hard time as he gave him, he did enjoy working cases with him and he didn’t want to stop; but Matthew had insisted he should go to Bonehead. That he missed being away. That he couldn’t wait to get home.

“You’re my best mate,” Danny says, pulling him free of the memory. “You’re my best mate, because you’re not scared to call me an idiot when I’m an idiot, and you make me laugh like no one else, and..And..” Charlie can see streaks of tears on his face. His hands press harder against his stomach, it hurts. He groans unintentionally. Bright little stars dance around his vision.

He’s okay.

He’s gonna be just fine.

…

Charlie was surprised to wake up.

But he wasn’t unhappy about it. In fact, he was very happy about it, even if it was painful and he had no privacy at all.

He was unhappy that he wasn’t allowed any visitors at all, except for Doctor Harvey. When he questioned her about it, she’d explained that he’d died twice before they managed to stabilize him, and they didn’t want to take any chances at all.

So he didn’t get to see anyone until he was put on the ward after what seemed like forever, but according to the calendar, was actually about a week. Even then, his visitors were limited to his family. But he was glad to see his mother, and his brothers. Mercifully, Bernie stayed away. His mother brought his stuffed bear from his childhood for him, which was embarrassing but he would be a liar if he said he didn’t take comfort in it.

A week after that, he finally managed to convince the staff to let Danny in to see him. His mother had been passing messages between them and had assured him that she liked Danny and that she loved him no matter what. That made him cry, but he passed it off as just having something in his eye. Poorly.

But finally, Danny was allowed in. Just Danny, no nurses, no doctors, just the two of them. Even now, he’s so handsome. He sat, and after a second, took hold of Charlie’s hand.

“Have I been replaced?” He asked, nodding towards the bear he was still holding.

“Maybe Beary should be asking you that.” He replied.

“I think I had a bear named Beary.” He replied, smiling.

“What happened to it?”

“Gave it to Amy. She lost it.”

“Ah.” He replied. He didn’t know Amy well, but that was mostly by choice. Danny didn’t want him involved with her, so he didn’t get involved with her. From what he could tell, she was troubled. She reminded him of Ray, sometimes. Danny threaded their fingers together, and looked down at them. Charlie wondered what he was thinking.

“Did you see a bright light?”

“When I died?”

“Yeah.”

“No. I don’t remember anything, after thinking that your voice was a good last thing to hear.”

“You’re a fucking romantic.” He rested his chin atop their hands, Charlie can feel him swallow. His chin is mostly bone, and sharp but he doesn’t complain.

“It’s a character flaw.”

“I don’t think so.” Danny’s smile is so blinding, and Charlie is just happy to bask in it. “Even if it is, it’s one I’m fond of.”

“Are you fond of my other flaws?”

“No. It pisses me off that you refuse to use shorthand.” That makes him laugh, which makes him groan in pain and a look of fear crosses Danny’s face. “Do you need me to get someone?”

“It’s okay, just give me half a …” His internal muscles relaxed, the pain became bearable. He let out a breath. “I’m okay.”

“Not how I’d describe your situation.”

“Hey, until you’ve died twice you don’t get to decide my okay.” Danny rolled his eyes and kissed Charlie’s knuckles quickly.

His heart sings. 


End file.
